


most disputes die and no one shoots

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [26]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Again, Alexander Hamilton: National Disaster, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Asexual Character, Asexual James Madison, Don't Let Alex Choose Your Therapy, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, James Madison: Against Laser Tag, Laser Tag, M/M, Politics, President Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson: Victim of Falling Walls, this is pure banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Alexander Hamilton plays laser tag. It goes about as well as could have been expected.Also known as the story of how James Madison accidentally comes out as ace on national television.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _____♫♫♫.•*¨`*•..¸♥☼♥ ¸.•*¨`*•.♫♫♫____  
> ╔═════════ ೋღღೋ ════════╗  
> ~~~~~~ ೋ Happy Birthday ೋ ~~~~~~  
> ~~~~~ ೋ Alexander Hamilton ೋ ~~~~  
> ╚═════════ ೋღღೋ ════════╝  
> _____♫♫♫.•*¨`*•..¸♥☼♥ ¸.•*¨`*•.♫♫♫____
> 
> Also, I apologize if I offended anyone by referring to their works. It was not my intention. Just tell me, and I will change it. I included these authors simply because all of them are _amazing_.

_CBS_ @cbs  
Should the 1967 anti-nepotism statute (5 US Code § 3110) be amended to include friends of past life? Debate on CBS at 8/7c.

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_Brawl at the Senate!_

Congressman Matthew Lyon of Vermont, a die-hard Republican, began to mock the aristocratic sympathies of Federalist Congressman Roger Griswold of Connecticut. Griswold then accused Leon of him seeing prostitutes being the reason for his recent divorce. Lyon responded by spitting in Griswold's face. Griswold grabbed a hickory cane and proceeded to thrash Lyon, who retaliated by taking up fire tongs and attacking Griswold. The two congressmen ended up scuffling on the floor like common street thugs. Is this the kind of politics we want in our country?

_Lyon Crayton, CNN_

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 _Alexander Hamilton_ @AdotHam  
@Matthew.Lyon @R_Griswold Politics at its best.  
_[Picture attached]_

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Laser tag had not been Alexander's first choice for his birthday outing.

The first choice was, and always would be, scuba diving, which James continued to soundly reject each year. His second choice was kickball. This, James rejected as well, his mind already creating a scenario where Alexander and his past friends from the Revolution would break away to steal a glow-in-the-dark shirt and kickball, somehow hurting themselves and everyone else in the process, which would probably result in an extensive hospital visit for everyone involved, which, in turn, would mean that James and Burr would be the only ones holding the cabinet together (James didn't count Drawwood, as she seldom diverted her attention to anything other than economics, and when she did, it was usually to help Lafayette prank Alexander), and James did not particularly fancy a fortnight with Burr as his only company (the feeling, he presumed, was mutual). Plus, when one additionally factored in the consecutive scandals, the media outrage, the fury of Alexander's fans (the fact that he even _had_ fans was worrying enough), and the potential Twitter arguments…

No. Just no. Not going to happen on James' watch.

Laser tag was Alexander's third choice, and, incidentally, the point at which James threw up his arms in defeat and declared that he didn't even care anymore and that Alexander could do whatever he wanted as long as he didn't kill anyone.

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“Alexander,” James began slowly, trying desperately to be patient with his friend despite at the same time wanting to wring his neck, “this marks the fifth time this year that you have ditched your security detail.”

Alexander shrugged. “That's not that bad,” he argued.

“ _We're two weeks into January_.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, 'oh',” James imitated. He adopted a grave tone. “The Secret Service would like to know how you're doing it.”

“That would take away all the fun,” Alexander pouted.

“You are _five_ ,” James told him.

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“Carrie Fisher just died,” Burr mentioned casually.

“So?” Angelica asked. “Everybody dies. It's the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do.”

“How about we pay homage to her?” Burr pushed. “A post, a video, a picture. Something to show that we care.”

Schmidt considered this. “It's a good idea, but it will raise the question: why her? Why not someone else – _anyone_ , really?”

Alexander shrugged. “I'm a big fan of Star Wars. That is good enough of an excuse for me.”

Burr shot Angelica a warning look, but she seemed taken with the idea. She grinned and nodded. “That could work.”

“Why didn't you do the same for Nimoy when he died?” Burr felt the need to point out the glaring fault in their reasoning.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Yes, Star Trek is great, Burr, but c'mon, it's _Star Wars_ ,” he drawled. When Burr raised an eyebrow, silently ordering Alexander to elaborate, Alexander groaned. “Okay, important question, Aaron: Star Wars or Star Trek?” he challenged.

Burr hesitated. “Well, he began tentatively, they are both fantastic franchises, and they both have faults as well as–“

“ _Burr_ ,” Alexander growled.

“Fine,” Burr huffed. “Star Wars, although it's only because they have a more interesting concept.”

“Really?” Alexander raised an eyebrow. “You choose a trilogy whose moral is essentially that violence pays off instead of a society where everyone is equal and there is beautiful harmony? Star Trek represents the potential for good in people, whereas Star Wars is a study in our potential to do harm.”

“See, this is why I didn't say anything,” Burr scowled. “I just knew that, no matter what I would say, you would find something to argue about.”

Alexander shrugged. “What can I say? I always do that. And that's a yes to the Carrie Fisher memorial video.”

Together, they eventually put together a video, although Lafayette was forbidden from using James' phone ever again on pain of dismemberment.

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 _From: Thomas_  
so, jemmy, what is it like, working for hamilton?

 _To: Thomas_  
Thomas, first off, learn to capitalize.  
Second, are we really having this conversation over text?  
Third, I'm in the middle of a meeting with a particularly stubborn group of senators. I'll talk to you later.

 _From: Thomas_  
awww, jemmy, you're no fun

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“Mr Morrow, was it hard to work with Hamilton and Jefferson?” Joshua Asher from CNN asked. “I mean, legend has it that they were always at each other's throats, so…” he trailed off suggestively.

James waved a hand. “First off, the only time I have really seen Alexander and Thomas work together was during that one negotiation dinner – and no, I'm not going to talk about it. If Alexander or Thomas haven't said anything, I'm not about to reveal any secrets. But really, at some point, you become, if not immune to the squabbling, then at least hardened.”

“What,” the reporter intoned flatly.

James winced. “It's fine,” he said, then amended, “well, it wasn't _fine_ , since they always looked like they were two minutes away from punching each other, but it was normal; I got used to it. They tended to, and still do, act this way. Well, it was mostly Alexander, now that I think about it,” he mused. “You know," James smiled fondly, "he actually once held a two-hour speech on why Star Wars was more progressive than Tolkien's works, and I have to admit, he was _very_ convincing,” James grinned.

“Oh?” Joshua smiled, leaning a little into James' personal space. “Don't spare us any details.”

James was all too happy to vent about Alexander, even he could only do it in the form of telling a funny anecdote on CNN.

“So, Mr Morrow,” Joshua said once James had finished, “there's one more thing I would like to ask you before we wrap this up, if it wouldn't be too presumptuous of me.”

James had never liked unplanned questions, and this, whatever it was, had not been included in the plan CNN had given him. Still, he nodded cautiously. “Go ahead,” he prompted.

Joshua continued to smile blindingly. “If President Hampton and Secretary Motier are officially together, do you ever join them, or do you date Mr Jefferson?" James snorted, and the reporter switched tracks. "Is there maybe something between you and Miss Smith?”

James sighed long-sufferingly. “I see; you're one of the people who have been recruited into fanfics,” he said laconically, noting the interviewer's unrepentant grin. “And yes, the question was _very_ presumptuous, but the answer's no."

"No?" the reporter echoed.

"No,” James confirmed. "I'm simply not interested in any of that.”

The interviewer blinked. “How do you mean?” he asked confusedly.

James rolled his eyes. “It means that I am asexual and aromantic and simply _not interested_ in such matters, so if you would stop asking, that would be much appreciated, and _oh my God did I just come out on national television?_ ”

In the distance, he could distinctly hear Alexander's howls of laughter, punctuated by Schmidt's slightly more subtle – yet _just not subtle enough_ – snickers.

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“Angelica?” Alexander's voice echoed around the doorway, and his head popped in, followed by the rest of her body.

“I've got a bit of paperwork that you should see,” she said, not making eye contact with the president.

He took in the frown on her face, and scrunched up his nose in confusion. “What is it? Should I be worried?”

Angelica frowned. “Alexander,” she began, “Ryan is calling for mandatory registration of reincarnates on application.”

Alexander gritted his teeth. “That's invasion of privacy,” he spat.

Angelica rolled her eyes. “I know that, you know that, now we need to convince everyone else of that.”

“Leave that to me,” Alexander said, storming out of her office, the paperwork he wanted to give her forgotten.

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 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
@RyanPaul To force people to register their past life on any kind of application is nothing less than an invasion of privacy. There is (1/4)

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
no reason for anyone to know this information, just like nobody needs to know about your porn tastes. You should be able to have a (2/4)

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
second chance, not bound to your past life, not having to be burdened with the reputation of your past self. After all, isn't (3/4)

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
reincarnation, at its most fundamental level, a second chance? (4/4)

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 _From: smarter than me  
_ Seriously? Using porn as a comparison?

 _To: smarter than me_  
Well, it worked, didn't it

 _From: smarter than me_  
Need I remind you of the last time you used your sex life as an argument in public?

 _To: smarter than me_  
Please don't  
Burr already has saved the reynolds pamphlet to his phone as a pdf

 _From: smarter than me_  
That's your own problem.

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 _Trending right now:_  
#presidenthamilton  
#kittens  
#asexuality  
#donaldtrump  
#carriefisher  
#fanfiction  
#aven  
#jemmymorrow  
#paulryan  
#pizzahutfail

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 _White House_ @whitehouse2k15  
Asexuality: An asexual person is a person who does not experience sexual attraction.

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
'@whitehouse2k15: Asexuality: An asexual person is a person who does not experience sexual attraction.' In case anyone was wondering.

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“You've apparently made the the 'famous aces' list,” Drawwood drawled, walking into his office the next afternoon. “They are scarily fast when it comes to updating that thing.”

“The _what_?” James choked, looking up from a file Alexander had sent over for him to read. That was this morning, although James really couldn't be faulted for not being able to finish a ninety-seven page report in a few hours. “And don't you have work?”

Drawwood shrugged. “The Senate said–“

“I know what the Senate said,” James cut her off more brusquely than intended. “I'm in charge of it. Don't you have other things to do beside wait for the Senate to finish quarreling over every small detail?”

“Already did those things. And then the things I was putting off. And then some of Motier's stuff, which _he_ keeps putting off.”

“Then find something else to do,” James rolled his eyes, trying to read a sentence he has read five times already but still not fully comprehended.

“Awww,” Drawwood grinned. “Did boss send you another report with two hundred pages?”

James snorted. “No, this one's only ninety-seven pages.”

Drawwood calmly took a seat in front of his desk. “There you go, then. He recently sent me one that's over two-fifty.”

“Ouch,” James winced sympathetically.

“Ouch,” Drawwood agreed readily. “Anyway, aren't you the _least_ bit curious what list I was talking about?”

“Not really,” James replied, making a show of being busy with the report. “In contrast to almost everyone in this cabinet, I remember that we do actually have a country to run. I don't have the time for non-essentials.”

Drawwood scoffed. “Non-essentials?” she repeated. “Mr vice boss, this is the asexual community. _Your_ community. The community that desperately needs a spokesperson as famous as you just to be acknowledged. I think you know what it feels like to think that you're alone, or different, or ignored, or erased. They _need_ you.”

“In this instance, I have to agree with Secretary Drawwood,” Angelica unexpectedly chimed in from the door, and it took all of James' self-control not to jump in his chair.

He frowned at her. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Angelica replied cryptically, which answered _nothing_. “As I said, I'm with Drawwood on this one. You need to show that you are there, that you aren't ashamed of who you are, and that you are not planning on changing anytime soon. You are you, and they have to deal with it. Also, play nice with AVEN.”

“AVEN?” James frowned. “What's AVEN?”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “I find it amusing how how I, a lesbian, know more about your own community than you do."

"I'm just asexual, I don't actively _research_ something I already know about," James felt the need to point out.

"AVEN stands for Asexuality Visibility and Education Network, dear Madison," Angelica went on as though James hadn't interrupted her. "Their founder, David Jay, keeps inquiring whether you have the time for an interview.”

“I don't, James said instantly.

“Well, too bad," Angelica shrugged, "because I've already said yes,” she concluded, her voice final.

James groaned. “Do I have a say in this?” he asked.

“Nope,” Angelica said cheerfully. “The one thing you _do_ get to do is sit with Jay and talk about your feelings. Yes, I know, you hate it, but you outed yourself in an interview watched by millions of viewers. You can only go up from here,” she said, not unsympathetically.

“What is it Alexander likes to say?” James pretended to think for a second, then continued. “Ah, yes. 'You underestimate me. I've brought my pickaxe and I'm ready to dig.'”

“Stop imitating Alexander,” Angelica reprimanded. “It's bad for your health.”

“You know what _else_ is bad for my health?" James retorted. “Redundant interviews. Don't get me wrong, Angelica, I care about visibility, I really do, but don't you think that there is another person who could be a better champion of the asexual cause? I'm not really the ideal person to champion anything.”

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “You are James Morrow, the Vice President of the United States. Prior to that, you were James Madison, twice the president of that same country. I respectfully disagree, James: I think you are the ultimate person for this.”

James sighed, knowing that once Angelica had set her mind to something, there was no convincing her otherwise. “When did you schedule it?”

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“Hello, Mr Vice President. I'm David Jay.”

“Please to make your acquaintance, Mr Jay. Please do sit down. Coffee?”

“Yes, please. _So,_ to jump straight to the subject – oh, thank you – I have been thinking about doing a few education events, and I think that it would be a good idea if you were involved in some of them.”

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“Alright,” said the instructor, cheerfully clasping his hands, “so how many of you have done this before?” Only Alexander, Lafayette, Martha, Chris, and Renée raised their hands. “Okay,” the instructor continued, “let's go through how this works, then. You will each wear a jacket,” he pointed at a glow-in-the-dark vest, “with a laser gun attached to it. Your objective is, essentially, to shoot at your enemies' vests while avoiding your teammates'. The laser does not damage the eyes in case you accidentally aim it at someone's head, but please be careful regardless. Now, you being who you are, I feel that I should warn you, even though laser tag very rarely triggers flashbacks, that you should be careful – do not hesitate to quit if it gets too much. PTSD is not something to ignore or be ashamed of or ignore.”

Alexander nodded. “Understood,” he said in a tone more serious than befitted him.

The instructor then grinned. “Good,” he said. “Have you created teams yet, or should I do it?”

Alexander waved him off. “I've already put together the teams.”

“He spent quite a lot of thought on this,” James chimed in from beside Alexander.

Thomas scowled. “And what happens if we are not satisfied with your teams?” he drawled.

Eliza snickered when Renée began to hum quietly. “Stop it,” she elbowed her jokingly.

Alexander smirked at Thomas. “Then you will simply have to suck it up, I'm afraid. My birthday, my idea, I choose the teams. Worry not, you're not on my team.”

“Thank God,” Thomas snorted, “because you have no idea for how long I've wanted to shoot you.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, Tommy boy.”

Thomas stuck out his tongue in retaliation. “This will actually be quite therapeutic.”

“In a rare sign of Thomas' intellect, I happen to agree with him,” Alexander said casually, ignoring the bulging eyes.

“I feel like I should mark this day somehow,” Angelica whispered to Eliza, who smirked.

“I am going to take great pleasure in shooting at Tommy here,” he smirked, and Thomas glared at the nickname. “Now, the first team, personally named Team A after Alexander–“

“Of course it's called Alexander,” Hercules rolled his eyes.

“ _Hush_ , Herc,” Alexander admonished. “As I was saying before someone so rudely interrupted me,” he paused to glare at a silently smug Hercules, “Team A consists of myself, Angelica, Philip, Theo, Lafayette, Martha, Lin, Groff, Jasmine, Anthony, and Drawwood, whom Herc managed to kidnap,” he grinned at the scowling woman standing in the back.

“You're an ass,” she said defiantly. “ _Sir_.”

Alexander merely smiled.

“It's unfair, though. Burr will judge in favour of their team because Theo's there,” Peggy complained.

Alexander resisted rolling his eyes. “And Schmidt will favour your team because dad is on it,” he said, as though irritated by the mere fact that he had to explain it to her. “The rest of you are Team T for Thomas,” Thomas beamed at this, feeling oddly proud that Alexander deemed him enough of an opponent to name the opposite after him. It's the little things. “For the record,” Alexander continued, “that's Thomas, Eliza, Peggy, John, Hercules, dad, Leslie, Daveed, Oak, Renée, and Chris.”

Angelica stared. “God, you really _have_ put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?”

“Believe me, he has,” James groaned. “He worked on that thing for two hours, though most of the time was spent on psychoanalyzing everyone.”

This time, Alexander did roll his eyes. “Play nice, Jemmy.”

“I'm not going to play, _period_ ,” James pointed out.

“No, you are our third designated driver,” Alexander grimaced, “the other two being Burr and Schmidt,” he turned to the instructor. “When can we begin?”

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It started out surprisingly harmlessly (which, in itself, should have rung a warning bell since things are seldom calm whenever Alexander and Thomas are within twenty feet of each other). The teams effortlessly divided themselves into teams within themselves. Martha and Angelica worked together, as did Theo and Philip, Lafayette and Drawwood, Lin and Groff, and Jasmine and Anthony.

On the opposing team, Eliza and Peggy worked together, as well as John and Hercules, Washington and Chris (who, judging by those little hearts in his eyes, was more a little starstruck), Leslie and Renée, and Daveed and Oak.

Alexander and Thomas, to the surprise of exactly no one, promptly split off and began what seemed to be a private war, complete with ambushes and traps. Everyone unequivocally decided to give them a wide berth, not wanting to risk their wrath.

For a while, everything went smoothly. Martha and Angelica were an astonishingly effective team, with Martha proving herself to be a complete badass and a champion at laser tag, ruthlessly killing everyone on the opposing team with frightening accuracy their opponents before they even knew she was there. James redefined his idea of the phrase 'guns blazing' to accommodate Martha Westchester.

Burr shifted next to James, his eyes glued to Alexander, who had just shot Thomas, and scampered off to hide once again, mission accomplished.

James turned to Schmidt, who was typing something on his phone. James stared incredulously. “Are you seriously tweeting right now?” he asked disbelievingly.

Schmidt shrugged unrepentantly. “I thought that the Hamfans ought to know that their idol just shot Thomas Jefferson.”

James closed his eyes, praying for patience. “Dear God, you're _encouraging_ them,” he groaned. “I am surrounded by children,” he told the empty air in front of him.

“I object to that,” Burr responded, still not looking away from Alexander. James cracked open an eye. Burr was watching his friend with an intensity James struggled to identify.

“Yes, my mistake,” James deadpanned. “You are an old man.”

“I object to that as well.”

“ _Of course_ you do.”

A crash diverted their attention away from their conversation. They looked back at the game just in time to watch all lights suddenly go out. Someone screamed (probably Drawwood, by the sound of the voice); someone swore (Martha – it had to be). The instructor hurried to turn on the emergency power, lighting up the room brighter than before. As the fluorescent lights illuminated the room, James took in the scene before him. A large obstacle had somehow collapsed on top of Thomas, and James only really knew that it was him because of his trademark lush black hair. Alexander stood next to him, wearing an expression that was halfway sheepish and halfway smug. He pointed at Thomas apologetically. “I swear it was an accident.”

“How did you even manage this,” Burr's voice echoed in the absolute silence that resulted.

Alexander shrugged helplessly. “It just sort of _happened_. I was going to shoot the wall over there so that it would reflect the laser and hit Thomas, but I think I might have neglected to see this wall,” he gestured uselessly at the prop.

Thomas grunted from underneath the chunk of plastic, the sound muffled by the material. Alexander glared. “It was really Jefferson's fault though,” he elaborated. “If he had not been standing there–“

Burr turned away from the scene in order to address the instructor, who was staring at Alexander as though the politician had grown a second head. “We are really sorry for this,” Burr began. “Just send the bill to the White House.”

The instructor snapped out of his mood; he snickered, and Burr let out a relieved breath he had not been aware that he had been holding. “I will fix up the wall in no time, Mr Bartow,” the man reassured Burr. “It's just plastic.”

“Someone should educate Alexander though,” Martha smirked. “These plastics are specifically designed not to reflect any light and distract the players, so his plan was useless anyway. Why on Earth would you shoot the wall?” she asked Alexander, who shrugged helplessly once more.

Daveed grinned. “The President of the United States, everyone.”

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Once Thomas had been rescued from the falling wall of doom, as he had taken to calling it, Washington declared a break. As soon as he was able to, Alexander approached the instructor, inquiring whether it was possible to set up a one-on-one game. The instructor shrugged and said that it was Alexander's call, really.

This was how Burr suddenly found himself involved in a private game of laser tag with Alexander whose sole goal was for Hamilton to shoot Burr and tell him that they were even now, and for Burr to shoot Hamilton again and again to get over his flashbacks, which Hamilton knew that he had.

Hamilton, for all his intelligence, was not always smart, because this could have backfired immensely, but just this once, it worked, and James was torn between being exasperated by Alexander's rash decisions, and some sort of pride that Alexander actually thought about others.

They played several rounds with different teams. Once, it was Alexander and Lafayette against Thomas and John, followed by Martha absolutely slaughtering her husband, only slipping up once. Groff had the idea to play reincarnates vs the Hamilton cast, with Drawwood serving as judge (even Schmidt was roped into that one, despite his complaining that he was far too old for running around with a toy gun, though, by the end of the game, his face shone up with childlike joy). The Schuyler sisters then challenged Alexander and his three closest friends from Before; Angelica later attributed their victory to the fact that they had the number advantage and really, who thought that putting Hercules in _any_ team was fair?

Having recovered his ego since the Plastic Wall Incident, Thomas later challenged Alexander to a rematch, this time with their respective actors, which then prompted John to challenge Angelica in a similar fashion.

James watched the games and the squabbling with a smile. He found a soda and sat down with it on the couch next to Alexander. “How are you enjoying your birthday, Alexander?” he asked, taking a sip of the refreshingly cool drink.

Alexander returned the smile. “It's pretty fun,” he let his eyes drift off into the crowd, finally meeting Burr's gaze. He patted the seat on the side of him not already occupied by James, offering him a seat. “And I think Burr might have resolved some of his issues,” Burr, in the meantime, smiled at Alexander and made his way to the couch.

There was silence as the three men sat on the couch, observing their friends jump over various obstacles in near-darkness. It was surprisingly relaxing.

“You know, you astonish me sometimes,” James commented.

“In a good way or bad way?” Alexander raised an eyebrow.

James let out a laugh. “Oh, definitely good. Here, let me show you something,” he took out his phone, typed out his passcode, and quickly found his camera roll. He found whatever it was he was looking for and offered the phone to Alexander, who almost choked.

Somehow, right after they had finished that first game and helped retrieve Thomas, James had managed to snap a photo of Burr standing in between the two teams, a long-suffering look on his face. Alexander snickered as he opened Snapchat and shared the photo with James' friends with the caption 'the penance of Burr'. He then closed the app and offered the phone back to James.

James narrowed his eyes at the expression of near-giddiness on Alexander's face. “Alexander, what did you do?”

“Oh, nothing,” he smirked. “Might have shared a photo or two.”

“He will kill you when he finds out, you know.”

“Who will kill Alexander?” Burr asked.

“Nobody,” Alexander and James chorused. Burr shot them a suspicious look but decided to store it to deal with later. He winced when Peggy went full-on Terminator on the unsuspecting Lafayette, who emitted another loud scream. (So that was who it was earlier. Good to know.)

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“Mr President, I've got to be frank with you,” the reporter, Nichole Sanner, smiled charmingly, “are you at all creeped out by the fanfiction people have begun to write about you and your cabinet?”

“Oh, you _have_ done your research. I like that,” Alexander grinned right back, giving off the impression of a madman. “First off, the fanfics are actually mostly based on the _Hamilton_ musical, but even if they were based on us, why would I be creeped out? I mean, I know of at least two people – pretty sure there's also a third but I wouldn't bet our nuclear arsenal on that – in the White House who write for the Hamilton fandom, though I am unsure about how many readers there are. So it's not like it's a foreign concept to us,” he shrugged.

Nichole blinked. “Pardon me, sir,” she enunciated, “but did you just say that your staff is writing fanfiction about you?” she sounded skeptical.

Alexander winced. “Well, when you put it like that, it _does_ sound bad, but nobody is really bothered by it.”

“Sir, I think you really like to feed the speculation,” Nichole noted.

Alexander shrugged. “What can I say? I like people to be involved in the government, and if fanfiction is what it takes to achieve that goal, then so be it.”

“How very Machiavellian of you.”

“You can't deny that people have genuinely become more interested in who is running this country during this administration than they have been for a very long time,” Alexander pointed out defensively. “Tell me, do you honestly think that people even knew who the State Secretary was before Gilbert du Motier?”

Nichole tilted her head. “No, I don't suppose they did,” she conceded. “I have to say, though, that it's an unusual method.”

“I'm not exactly known for conventional methods; I never have been. They are so… boring,” Alexander scrunched up his nose.

Nichole laughed, then switched topics. “Now, I'm sure that you must have known that I would ask this at some point today,” she leaned forward, “but any reaction to your vice president coming out as asexual?”

“Not really,” Alexander replied lightly. “I've known him for ages – and I don't mean it metaphorically – and he has never shown any interest in any physical activities, if you know what I mean. It's just another part of who he is – like my bisexuality, which I have, for the record, never tried to hide – and there is no reason to hound him about this. He has never dated or shown any interest in doing so, so the pieces were all there for anyone to put together, had anyone bothered.

“And last but certainly not least, James is a fairly private person, and with all due respect, Nichole, and every other reporter, for the matter,” he glanced into the camera, “I kindly ask you to respect his privacy and not to poke your nose into business that does not concern you. If he wants to tell you something, he will. Otherwise, please leave him be.”

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 _From: Jemmy_  
I can't believe you discussed my sex life on national TV.

 _To: Jemmy_  
Technically, I discussed your LACK of a sex life  
And it's not like you didn't do it way before I did

 _From: Jemmy_  
Fuck you.

 _To: Jemmy_  
This entire mess is about you NOT fucking people

 _From: Jemmy_  
I start to see why Burr shot you.

 _To: Jemmy_  
You had the chance during laser tag. Sorry :(

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 _jeffersauce:_ he said White House, as in broad meaning, which means at least one of these people is from outside his cabinet, otherwise he would have said that

 _cuddlybearme:_ UNLESS he said that to distract us, you know, like a trap

 _jeffersauce:_ *snorts* alex, setting traps? the guy barely watches what comes out of his mouth, he has literally no brain-to-mouth filter. he's not capable of such secrecy.

 _gourmetfoodynot:_ his secretary?

 _cuddlybearme:_ does he even HAVE a secretary?

 _bestofwiives:_ well, I think we can exclude jemmy because he's ace

 _jeffersauce:_ woah there, you think that just bc people are ace, they don't write fics? sorry to burst your bubble bUT

 _senpai-goat:_ so theory: jemmy is actually theother51 bc I figure that he is such a hopeless romantic and he totally ships whamilton and hamburr and EVERYTHING AND IS AN INCREDIBLE AUTHOR

 _senpai-goat:_ theory 2: alex is notevenyou bc hAVE YOU READ THAT HAMBURR IT'S TOTALLY HIS STYLE AND SO INCREDIBLY WELL-WRITTEN

 _jeffersauce:_ it can't be him, alex uses WAY more commas. he's like, the comma abuser (read some of his letters to laurens for reference)

 _archangelica:_ No, Alex is actually MidwinterSun. Complicated writing style, sophisticated vocabulary, accurate portrayal, and realistic plot. Also, superfluous abuse of commas.

 _Jeffersauce:_ sorry, archangelica, but midwintersun's other works (I assume that you base your analysis on 'valiant') doesn't fit this analysis

 _gourmetfoodynot:_ what about the monticello furlough? certainly funny enough for angelica smith

 _alexandanger:_ she isn't funny, she is scary and intimidating and a total BAMF and she writes these long-ass speeches, and that's just not how TMF is written, sorry :(

 _bestofwiives:_ I wonder if gwash writes fics

 _alexandanger:_ OMG CAN U IMAGINE THO

 _alexandanger:_ I WOULD TOTALLY READ HIS FICS

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS, I HAVE OFFICIALLY WRITTEN MORE THAN 50% OF THE CHALLENGE
> 
> Recommended reading: pretty much everything by [notevenyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notevenyou/pseuds/notevenyou), but especially [Take My Aim, So You Feel Me Coming Close](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6794998), as well as [valiant into the infernal night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8112628/chapters/18594541) by [MidwinterSun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwinterSun/pseuds/MidwinterSun), and [The Monticello Furlough](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6764224/chapters/15459736) by [ Michelle_A_Emerlind](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind).


End file.
